Your own worst enemy
by Sleepycreator
Summary: He wondered if somewhere, another version of him had it better. He wondered if it was possible for he, and all of his friends to be free from the weight of disease, and starvation. He wondered if some other him didn't discover his girlfriend with slit wrists in the tub, or go through a grueling and painful half a year withdrawal. Well…. he was right. About one of those things...


**Hey everyone, Kris here. Before anyone says anything about the other chapter fics im neglecting, save it. I feel bad, but I love the idea of this, so have another one.**

**In books or movies, I was always fascinated when an evil twin of a protagonist popped up, and they would pretty much have to fight their own worst enemy- themselves.**

**I'm really putting a lot into this one, so I hope you enjoy. It sounds crazy, but I'm sure youll get into it.**

**Reviews please!**

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**PROLOGUE:  
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_"__Your best friend and worst enemy are both in this room right now. It's not your neighbor right or left - and it's not God or the devil - it's you." –__Edwin Louis Cole_

Roger Davis was living a struggling life on the east side of Manhattan, on the top floor of what once was a music publishing factory on the corner of 11th street and avenue B. Suffering in a loft apartment with no heat, his fingers chilled to the bone, and hunger pains waking him at night, he wondered if there was such a thing as alternate universes. He wondered if maybe, somewhere, another version of him had it better, was living it up.

He wondered if it was possible for he, and all of his friends to be free from the weight of disease, starvation, and hypothermia. He wondered if there was a world where he could belong that didn't sneer at him when he walked down the street. He wondered if some other him hadn't ever had to discover his girlfriend with slit wrists in the tub, or go through a grueling and painful half a year withdrawal. Some other him could be on tour with one of the best bands in the world…. Sending money back to his bohemian family, who would never have to feel the misery they once endured again…

Well…. he was right. About one of those things.

The truth was, there was another version of Roger, just in a different world. Everyone's worst enemy is themselves, and Roger's worst enemy was closer than he ever could have begun to imagine….

Roger Davis had an evil twin, sort of like a shadow, but the twin was bound to an awful alternate universe, somewhere he could never reach the aspiring young musician. There was an alternate for all the young bohemians, but they were banished to this terrible place, far, far away…

That was until, things went haywire…

And Roger's double managed to escape into normal Roger's world…

Being Roger's evil opposite, he was worse. So much worse. His temper would destroy anything in his way, and he had no attachments or bonds with anyone. He showed no one mercy, and he was terrifying. The evil version of Mark didn't even live with him, for evil Roger hated him with all his soul and will.

The worst thing about the Anti-Roger?

He would do anything to get what he wanted.

Even if it meant having to slaughter and kill anything that stood in his way.

The reason he was quick to jump to normal Roger's world was because in his world, he suffered far worse. He didn't even have a home like the loft. He slept on the streets and fought for his meals. It was every man for himself, and unlike the normal bohemians, who stuck together through thick and thin, the anti-Bohemians would jump at a chance to rip each other to shreds. Once he saw a chance to escape, he took it. And he wanted to take something else, too.

Roger's place.

With normal Roger out of the way, Anti-Roger could finally secure a spot to live, in a far less of a cruel world than his own. He would take out the scrawny filmmaker his kind-hearted double loved to protect so much, and as the shadows of the people who inhabited this world began to steal opportunities to put the same plan Anti-Roger possessed into action, he would sit back and sneer as he never had to spend another wretched night on the streets again…..

Normal Roger was busy getting dressed and ready, wanting to head out to the store to pick up a few things. He'd gotten a good chunk of cash from Collins, and wanted to stock the loft with groceries. He tugged on his jacket, and peeked over at his roommate and best friend, Mark, who was busy working on his current film. Roger couldn't help but smile a little. He had begun developing hard feelings for the little dork after his and Mimi's peaceful break up. He and Mimi were still friends, but she sensed Roger held something for Mark a little more. Her lips were sealed, but that didn't stop her from always trying to get him to confess. His stoic demeanor gave away nothing to anyone else, though.

"Roger? Have you seen my new box of film? I can't find it anywhere!" Mark called, peeking his head out from his projector. There were bags under his eyes. It was obvious he'd been up all night again, working.

Roger suddenly felt guilty.

"Uh…. Was it…. A brown box? With a red label?"

"You found it?" Mark's excitement couldn't be hidden away. Roger rubbed the back of his neck.

"I…. uh…. Used it as a footrest… it's by the couch…"

"You what!?"

"Uh…. Gotta go! Groceries need to be picked up… be back in a few." He tugged on his favorite, ratty old leather jacket, grabbed his loft keys, and with that, strode out the door. Seven flights down later, and he was walking out into the streets, humming softly to himself.

His double was getting closer, trying to make sense of this world.

It was different, alright… so different. People weren't trying to strangle him for his clothes, and this place wasn't as polluted as his world. He could actually breathe without a respirator…. Maybe he'd learn to like it, after all.

"Hi Roger!" someone called to him, and he looked up, noticing a beautiful Latina staring down at him from a fire escape. He looked down at the map he'd swiped. This was Roger's building alright. He looked ahead, and gasped a little as he saw his counterpart making his way further towards downtown. He'd have to catch up, and grab him before anyone suspected something.

He was about to take another step, when the young dancer's voice called out once more.

"Hey! Grumpy pants! I'm talking to you!"

Anti-Roger groaned a little, slamming his palm to his forehead. In his haste, he didn't bother to learn anything about the normal bohemians. Why should he? He wanted to kill them, not make friends! Realizing a mistake this dire could thwart his whole plan, he tried to make something up on the fly, struggling to remember the woman's name.

She looked just like her evil double, but Anti-Roger hadn't bothered to talk to her in his world. The two had broken into a nasty scrap over a sleeping place once, but that was about it. He couldn't help but shudder at the sight of her. Five deep scratches on his back proved her nails were pretty fucking sharp. He looked up at her smiling face, struggling to speak without a resentful tone.

"H-hi…."

Mimi frowned a little, hearing the strain in Roger's voice. She leaned against the fire escape railing playfully, and smirked.

"What's the matter, pretty boy? Cat got your tongue? I just said hi."

Anti-Roger continued to gawk at her. She quirked a brow.

"Uh…. You're staring again…." She suddenly blushed. "Aw… sound familiar?"

"No! I'm… busy!" Anti-Roger yelled back up at her, and she looked bored.

"You don't look busy to me, tough guy. You're just standing in the middle of the sidewalk."

Anti-Roger began to panic. He was even worse with interactions than his normal counterpart.

"And…. That's none of your business! This is important!"

Mimi gazed at him for a long time.

"Did you hit your head or something? Jeez… what crawled up your ass?"

Anti-Roger snarled.

"I'm feeling fine! I don't have to deal with you! You have nothing I need!" with that, he strode off in the direction his other self went. Mimi watched him go, her eyes narrowed.

"Someone's got his panties in a knot… what a prick." She went back inside, feeling angry with the hot-headed musician's behavior.

Anti-Roger continued on his mission, in a seething rage.

"Stupid woman…asking so many questions… I don't have to answer to anyone! My doubles an even bigger pushover than I imagined…"

It took him a long time, but Anti-Roger finally managed to lock onto Roger's trail. He was getting close.

Roger couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. Maybe it was his anxiety, or maybe someone was trying to catch up to him? He shook his head with a sigh, and continued on his way. Maybe he'd pick Mark up some of his favorite chocolate. That always brought a rare smile to the filmmaker's face.

Roger walked a little slower, beginning to day dream… about Mark. His smile, how he talked, how he smelled. The little blond drove Roger crazy, and he had no idea.

Only a few minutes from the store, when he cut down an alley, his familiar shortcut to arrive quicker, something moved faster than his eyes could follow, and he was suddenly whacked upside the head. He stumbled a little, then he fell to the ground with a groan.

"The fuck? oww…. who?" he glanced around, his vision blurring, the taste of blood in his mouth, trying to discover the culprit. He gasped as his chin was tilted up, and his twin stood above him.

"Hello, Roggy boy…."

Roger nearly choked on his own spit.

"Y-you…. I…. that's…. you're…. you look like…"

"Use your words, young man… it's not that hard…"

"Is this some kinda fucking mirror trick!? You're…. You're me!"

Anti-Roger smirked.

"That's right, big guy…. and I get the feeling I'm gonna like your world juuust fine…"

Before Roger could snap back, he was given another clean whack to the back of his head, and he slumped into the dirt, out cold. Anti-Roger stood over him for a few minutes, looking him over with disgust. He finally tied him up, gagged him, and began the slow and steady mission to drag him to a pre-determined hiding spot, where he could be left to rot away, alone.

By the time he'd thrown normal Roger into his little prison, it was dark out. He figured the normal Mark wouldn't have cared, but then again, he didn't know anything about the smaller man, or how he worried for his best friend. He looked up at the fading sunset, and pulled on normal Roger's old leather jacket before fixing his hair, and smiling. He walked over to a reflective puddle, and gazed down at himself, pleased with his efforts.

He looked just like the dumb creep. He looked ahead, knowing the path back to the building from here.

This was going to be easier than he thought…


End file.
